The One Woman: A Story of Modern UtopiaDixon, Thomas, Jr.
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The One Woman: A Story of Modern Utopia
Dixon, Thomas, Jr.
Utopian fiction; Utopias -- Fiction
Kate refused to allow Gordon to see or speak to her before her
entrance. They had agreed to make no elaborate preparations. She
was to prepare no traditional wedding trousseau. They were simply
to stand by each other's side before their friends, greet them
with the announcement of their love and unity of life, and receive
their congratulations.
When she at length summoned Gordon, he was amazed to see her arrayed
in the most magnificent conventional bridal dress he had ever seen.
A frown clouded his brow for an instant, and then melted into a
smile as his eyes feasted on the barbaric splendour of her beauty.
She stood silent and thoughtful, with her arms folded in front
across the lines of her voluptuous form, her head poised high,
erect as an arrow. Her mass of dark red hair rolled upward in a
great curling wave from her face. From its crest a bunch of orange
blossoms gleamed, clasping the filmy veil which fell, a white
cascade, over the wilderness of delicate lace forming her train.
She had turned half around, and this great train of shimmering
stuff enveloped her feet and swept out in graceful curve into the
room. The collar, which completely covered her rounded neck, was
made of rows of linked opals, and a necklace of pearls rested on
her beautiful breast, spreading out in heart shape, with a single
strand encircling the neck.
Her face was tragic in its seriousness. A new and charming melancholy
shadowed her violet eyes, causing the heavy lashes to droop till
their shadows showed on the creamy velvet of her cheek. Her mouth,
with scarlet lips drawn close, was earnest and solemn as he had
never seen it.
With the regal bearing of a queen she looked at him thoughtfully
without a word. She was giving him his first lesson in perfect
freedom and perfect equality of will. She had changed her mind at
the last moment and determined to be the bride her girlhood dreams
had pictured.
But the man saw only the ripened, luscious woman in the hour of
supreme surrender, and gazed in rapture. So superb was her health,
so rich and vital the splendid figure, no conventional art of bridal
costumer could confine or conceal the glory of its beauty.
"You see, my beloved," she said. "I am not going to promise to
obey, so I have chosen with this old conceit to disobey your first
expressed wish. Do you like me thus?"
"You are glorious!" he answered, smiling.
"And my father will give me away, and you will place a ring on my
hand when you make your little speech, before I respond."
He bowed gracefully. "As you will, my dear."
He would have promised anything.
As they entered the hall leading to the crowded parlours, the organ
in the music-room suddenly burst into the strains of the Wedding
March, and again she looked seriously into his face, and he laughed.
"My beautiful rebel, I'll tame you in due time, never fear!"
"And you're not angry?"
"Angry? I am more madly in love than ever."
And she flushed in triumph.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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